


Nobody Else Can

by forever_bright



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV), All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness
Genre: A take on Kit and Matthew's weird relationship, Angst, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Matthew, Pre-Canon, Substance Abuse, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28854048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forever_bright/pseuds/forever_bright
Summary: A strange vampire arrives in London and takes a bite out of Kit. Matthew is not pleased.
Relationships: Matthew Clairmont/Christopher "Kit" Marlowe
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	Nobody Else Can

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm going to be honest - I haven't read the books and I haven't actually finished S2 on the show just yet. So there's going to be some things wrong with this fic, I'm sure, and the show can be a bit unclear on what's allowed between different creatures... just kinda roll with it, yeah?
> 
> TBH I just had to write this because the lack of Kit / Matthew is appalling and they have a weird thing going on that we need to talk about.

Matthew had always known.

He was an expert in the art of extracting pain and that was why he played this game with Kit - keeping him close, holding him by his side and so painfully close to his heart that Kit could almost taste what a moment of genuine affection would be like. He never got it, though. He only got Matthew’s dark, teasing eyes and the constant game of push and pull, with Kit leaning in and Matthew moving back, laughing at his desperation.

Matthew had always known and he loved to make Kit suffer.

And Kit let him, encouraged him, because suffering was what Kit was made for. The blur of words that raced around his brain, along with the the other substances he drowned himself, the feeling of strangers’ hands on his skin and the knowledge that if Hell exists, he will be there soon enough. The best suffering of all was what Matthew dealt out for him, sharing secrets with him and letting his fingers trail across Kit’s sweaty neck late at night, when the opium and the wine had left him boneless and meek.

This was the game they played, and Kit hated it as much as he loved it.

He wasn’t happy, but there were moments. He had more of Matthew than anyone else in London, other than the Queen. And Kit told himself that was enough.

Life continued on - and on and on - and their lives were soaked in blood and lies and shadows, and Kit was barely paying attention the day Dmitri Aksakov arrived in London. Matthew and some of the others are agitated, but Kit had started drinking at dawn and sat slumped in a corner as the tension thrummed and whistled around him.

He was staring at Matthew through his hooded, drunken eyes, thinking about the way Matthew had feed wine from his own goblet the night before, drops of red escaping down Kit’s chin as he tilted his head obediently.

“Kit,” came Walter’s sharp voice and Kit blinked up at him. “You’re of little use to our cause in such a state.”

“My apologises,” Kit replied roughly, and his eyes flicked to Matthew, “You will have to struggle on without my assistance.”

Walter rolled his eyes, but was already turning way. Matthew’s lips curled in the hint of a smirk and warmth flooded Kit’s already flushed skin.

The others left and Kit stayed in his corner, eyeing the pitcher of mead on the table yet unable to muster the will to collect it. His eyes and mind drifted, and Kit wasn’t sure how much later it was when he noticed he was no longer alone in the room. 

A shadow stood in the corner and Kit - sadly beginning to sober up - pulled himself upright in a hurry.

“I come in search of Philippe de Clermont’s son and yet instead I find an empty house with only an enticing daemon to greet me,” came a lyrical, accented voice. Kit’s fingers gripped at the stones of the fireplace as he tried to steady himself, his mind already throwing out multiple ways to distract, to lie, to deflect until he worked out what his foreigner wanted. 

“Surely it can be no surprise that Matthew de Clermont does not sit at home like a maid, waiting for visitors,” Kit replied. He throat felt thick and dry, and he longed for a drink.

“Lucky for me.”

Before Kit could react, the vampire was across the room and had a hand gripped Kit’s hair, dragging his head back. Kit let out a grunt of pain, staring up into the icy blue eyes of the creature.

He was tall and slim, like Matthew, but with pale features and white blonde hair. His iron grip dragged Kit forward and it was barely a second before his teeth were sinking cleanly into Kit’s throat.

The pain was shocking and intense. Kit couldn’t repress a whimper as his blood was taken and the world was spinning unpleasantly around him when Dmitri pulled back, his lips wet and red.

Their eyes met, the chilling shade of Dmitri’s pinning Kit to the wall as much as the grip on his tunic.

“My my,” breathed Dmitri, “aren’t you an exotic flavour.”

He went to lean in again and Kit tensed in anticipation, but then there was a blur in front of him and he was knocked against the wall as Matthew appeared in a rush.

“What,” snarled Matthew, furious and towering, “do you think you’re doing? You come to _my city_ and into _my house_ , and dare to drink from _my daemon_?”

Half slumped agains the stone wall, Kit did not miss the description. He stared up at Matthew, barely able to breathe.

Dmitri straightened from where Matthew had thrown him into opposite wall, straighten his tunic and cloak. He seemed only slightly ruffled by the violet treatment.

“My apologises, Monsieur de Clermont. Perhaps I was too hasty, in my country such things are mere trifles. I did not realise it would serve as an insult, and I am here in the name of cooperation.”

The words were stilted and he nodded his head in apology. Kit found himself struggling to stay upright even as he used the wall for support, feeling a hot wet patch of blood spreading down his shirt.

“Get out,” snapped Matthew, still wrapped in a storm of fury. Dmirtri weighted his options and, with another short nod, left. 

Kit tried to stagger to a chair, and found himself supported mid-stumble by Matthew’s arm around his waist.

“I leave you alone for five minutes,” Matthew teased lowly and Kit exhaled dryly.

“My talent for misdeeds knows no limits,” he replied. Kit expected Matthew to drop him into the chair, but instead he gasped when he felt a hot tongue on his neck, lapping over the wound left behind by the other vampire. Matthew’s fingers dug into his ribs and Kit’s vision began to swim.

When the blood was gone and the wound clotted, Matthew pulled back and stared into Kit’s eyes, his expression still cold and menacing.

“Don’t forget, Kit. I don’t share.”

Matthew had always known who Kit belonged to.


End file.
